Page 18 of Kidnapping Cordelia

Delia stirred as Muir gave her a little shake, and she tried to rouse herself, blinking in the glare of the carriage lamp he held up to her face. Her entire body felt bruised, and her bones ached after so long travelling on indifferent roads. The weather had been kind at least, though cold, and the hot brick beneath her feet had lost any remnant of heat several hours ago. Shivering, she sat up, smothered a yawn, and put a hand to her hair only to discover it was escaping its pins on all sides.

“Drat it,” she muttered, trying to rearrange it.

“Never mind that,” Muir said with a touch of impatience. “My brother and his wife dinnae stand on ceremony. They know we’ve had a wearying journey.”

“That’s very well, sir, but I have never met them before. I do not wish their first impression of me to be a bad one,” she retorted, too weary to watch her tongue as perhaps she might have otherwise.

“Lassie, I am tired and famished. I want to sit down in something that disnae move, preferably with a glass of whisky in my hand. Now stop yer blethering and tie the ribbons,” he said, putting her bonnet firmly on her head before he climbed out.

Drat the man! Delia thought crossly but did as he asked upon hearing voices outside the carriage. Though it was a lost cause, she took a moment to smooth her rumpled skirts and pinch her cheeks to urge some colour back to them. She did not doubt she must look a fright, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

“Are ye coming?” Muir’s impatient voice called her from outside and Delia hurried to stand, taking his hand and climbing down. It was full dark and though there were servants bearing lamps, she gained only a vague impression of a huge, looming presence as the walls of the castle disappeared into the night. It was not entirely welcoming or reassuring, but then a young woman hurried out of the castle, smiling warmly at Muir. Her expression faltered for a moment upon seeing Delia, but she fixed in place again.

“But Muir, how lovely to see you. We did not expect you to bring us guests, however, certainly not such pretty ones,” she added, with an anxious glance at the man beside her.

That had to be Viscount Buchanan, Delia decided, for his resemblance to Muir was striking. He was looking at his brother with concern and no little disapproval.

“What this, Muir? What have ye gone and done now?”

“Can we nae get in the door first?” Muir said testily, eyeing his brother with annoyance. “I have nae desire to tell the tale before an audience, aye?”

“That depends,” Buchanan said, taking Muir’s arm and dragging him to one side, obviously hoping he was out of earshot. “Ye cannae arrive here with an unescorted woman! Are ye out of yer mind? Who the devil is she?”

“Oh, dear,” Lady Buchanan said with a sigh. “He never did learn the art of whispering. I beg your pardon, my dear. I’m afraid you must have had a trying journey, and this is no warm welcome, is it?”

Delia, reassured by the kindness of the woman’s smile, tried her best to return the expression. “I cannot blame Lord Buchanan for his words, nor anyone else for thinking my sudden entrance upon the scene a strange one. I’m afraid it is a ramshackle way of arriving, but you see I was kidnapped, and Mr Anderson kindly came to my rescue and—”

“Kidnapped!” the lady exclaimed, wide-eyed. “Mercy me! Oh, you poor, poor girl. Lyall, leave Muir alone. He’s quite right, we need to discuss this inside. Come in, both of you, at once.”

Catching sight of Muir giving his brother a smug look as he strode away, Delia followed Lady Buchanan into the house.

“But Luella,” the viscount protested.

“But me no buts,” she replied firmly. “This poor young woman has suffered a terrible ordeal, and I shan’t have her explain herself on the doorstep. Where is this fabled Highland hospitality you are always telling me of? Don’t put us to the blush, my lord, by forgetting it, please.”

Glowering, his lordship followed them all inside.

Delia followed Lady Buchanan, who took them into a remarkably cosy parlour where a fire blazed in a huge stone hearth. They were divested of coats, hats and gloves, and Delia seated directly beside the fire. She soon found herself plied with tea, shortbread, and whisky.

“You are just in time for dinner, but I don’t doubt you will want to wash and change, so I hope this will keep you going for the moment,” Lady Buchanan told her with a smile.

“You are most kind, my lady, but—but I’m afraid I have nothing to change into,” Delia said, feeling wretchedly out of place and embarrassed.

“Nothing to— The devil, Muir, what is going on here?” Lord Buchanan demanded of his brother.

Delia took her courage in both hands, for his lordship was a rather daunting figure and looked increasingly angry at his brother’s unheralded arrival with a strange female in tow. It was not fair that Muir should bear the brunt of his displeasure.

“If you please, my lord. I beg you will not be angry with your brother, for without him I should be in fear for my life at this moment. If you will forgive me for my impertinence, I shall tell you I am Lady Cordelia Steyning. My brother is the Marquess of Wrexham. An old family friend who is the son of my father’s steward kidnapped me. He drugged me and took me away, hoping to take me to Gretna Green and force me into marriage.”

His lordship gaped at her, and then his expression softened, and he took his place by his wife’s side. “I beg yer pardon, my lady. I pray ye will forgive me for being less than hospitable. I ought to have troubled myself to hear Muir’s explanation.”

“Aye, ye ought,” Muir replied with a snort, helping himself to his brother’s whisky decanter.

Buchanan ignored him. “And Muir got ye away?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” Delia replied, taking another sip of the sweet tea she held to steady her nerves. “I hit Mr Goodfellow over the head with a fireside poker when we stopped for breakfast and got away from him.”

“Oh, well done,” Lady Buchanan said, her eyes gleaming with approval.